Aaaah. It's that "Swirly Wind"

That was the mild curse Charles, an old friend gave when his ball missed the green by a country mile during a summer when I went through a golfing phase, way back when.

Funnily enough Charles is Sybil's dad. You know? Sybil from Downton Abbey aka Jessica Brown-Finlay.

We just finished a crash course in Downton. Seasons one and two in about a week. Not much doing at night up Maine way!

Anyway, "swirly".

We are here in Portsmouth New Hampshire. More accurately, off the Portsmouth Yacht Club on New Castle Island on the Piscataqua River.

The pilot book said to get here at slack water, which we did. It's our second visit although eight weeks ago we anchored way over on the other side, had a quiet night and slipped away quietly at dawn.

Different this side.

On a boat, unless one is possessed of a really cool disposition, or on someone else's boat, the slightest change in movement or noise level will instantly rouse the deepest sleeper from a state of near coma to the alert state of a gazelle that just caught a whiff of lion.

On the far side of the river we must have been in eddies ville. The non swirly, eddy side of the river. Here, we are catching the full run of the tide.

Just after midnight we were woken by the strange sound of rushing water like we were off at the races hurtling toward some edge of world torrent.

We leapt on deck to check what was happening. A quick look around to get our bearings showed we were still off the clubhouse so at least we weren't to about to plummet to our doom. Up forward to check we were securely tied showed the source of all the swishing and gurgling. The 4 foot diameter mooring ball was swirling around like a giant white eyeball in the dark water. The wash from the buoy was running back hitting us and creating a sizeable bow wave.

At the back, the dinghy was straining at its leash and I was pretty happy with my new habit of tying on a back up painter.

The current is running so strong we're not sure if our asthmatic little 2.5hp will get us ashore in the morning. We could be swept out to sea and, well, doooomed.

If we survive, its a day trip into Portsmouth then at night we are invited to dinner at the yacht club, having already been very generously given an evening meal tonight.

Craig's pal Jay us coming by for a drink as well.

Come Friday and a forecast 20-30 knots from the north we're catching the wind and tide and hopefully ticking off the 60 miles to Boston. Failing that, we will stop at Gloucester again and maybe catch a concert in Rockport.

So, nerves calmed, tide rip slowed, one thirty am, blog content prepped and so, its time for bed said Zeb.